


I wonder if he's proud

by SabrinaAuthor



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Because I am ready to deliver, Dadza but angst, Did anyone order a Wilbur wings au?, Evil Jschlatt, Gore, Heavy Angst, Insane Wilbur Soot, Phil is SO dissapointed, Sleepy Boys Inc - Freeform, Sleepy bois, Wilbur daddy issues?, Wilbur loses his wings, Wings, Wings AU, can I turn found family into angst, chapter 4 was inspired by the globs of doom playthrough on youtube by WishingTikal, did i mention the angst, feathers - Freeform, like holy shit, not beta read we die like Tommy eveytime he starts shit, sbi, serotonin not found, the festival make my brain go brrrrrrrr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27279799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SabrinaAuthor/pseuds/SabrinaAuthor
Summary: Wilbur Wing fic, but he kinda gets his wings cut off. Followed by much. Much. Angst. There's also like, fatherly angst with Wilbur and Phil. Then with Wilbur and Fundy! We getting angst from both possible fatherly sides here bois!
Comments: 44
Kudos: 276





	1. Who needs comfort anyways, I have my trauma to comfort me

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't kidding about the gore, it's a little vague but that's intentional. It's just Wilbur getting his wings cut off by Schlatt but like, yeah still. Trust me it gets better later.

A thick cloth is over Wilbur’s eyes. Schlatt mutters something incomprehensible, a brief fleeting touch on his shoulder, making him flinch against his bonds. The rope cuts into his wrists that are tied to the back of the chair, his wings layered on top of them, tied down as well.

Wilbur shakes his head attempting to shake the blindfold off. Schlatt chuckles, a low sound that shouldn’t be as intimidating as it is.

The scraping sound of a knife being sharpened. Echoing off the wall if the small room.

The light touches to the feathers lower down on the wings, making him flinch away only to get nowhere.

The feeling of Schlatt stroking where his wings meet the skin of his back, where the feathers got smaller and more sensitive. 

The knife scraping against the small feathers.

Blood dripping down his back as he _screams_. Begging for Schlatt to stop. Begging for anything but this. Begging for Schlatt to just kill him instead.

The blindfold removed, world tilted and sideways from the floor. His vision blurry on the edges, fading into darkness.

Sharp black shoes, loud on the stone floor, walking away. Pausing for a second at the door, turning back. Schlatt’s face caught in the flickering torchlight.

“We couldn’t have you trying to take back Manburg, now can we?”

Wilbur bolted up with a start, the last few dregs of the dream still in his eyes, souring into tears. Feeling for the comfort of his own feathers, only to stutter out a sob when he felt nothing. His own fingers grasped desperately for a second, only feeling the scarred bumpy skin with just a few feathers left. He curled in on himself, more sobs racking his body violently.

The light from the lanterns in the rest of the ravine shined through the slats in the door. His own sobbing was far too loud, part of him worried about waking Tommy or alerting Techno, the other half only mourned. The smell of damp stone did nothing to settle his nerves. He faintly thought to Phil. _god, he missed Phil_. He wondered his dad would think of him losing his only physical feature they shared in common, _fuck,_ losing the only connection to him. 

He faintly heard ringing in his ears as he remembered "Can't have you trying to take back Manburg" His thought taunted, playing the memory again. His breathing hitched and he felt like screaming. Wilbur tried to think back to what he used to do when he had bad nightmares. _Fly around with Dad_. His memory provided unhelpfully, rubbing salt into an open wound, Ironic in the worst possible way. He could almost hear the cruel laughter of the ram from here laughing. 

God he was gonna make Schlatt _pay_.


	2. Early mornings were never quite my style

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Techno has some opinions, Wilbur doesn't want to hear them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprisingly, I don't think there are any triggers I can really tag in this chapter. Actually, well I mean I guess TW for fighting and slight violence. Sorry I haven't updated in so long, I promise I'm not going to end up abandoning this fic and I'll try to update it more often.

The next morning Wilbur stumbled out of his room in Pogtopia. The lack of sleep showed in the bags under his eyes. Tommy was nowhere to be found, something Wilbur was thankful for. He could already feel the start of a headache forming. 

There was a mirror sitting near the nether portal, cracks spider webbing from a rather large missing piece in the middle of it. It showed he looked like shit. His face was far too pale, the bags under his eyes more like mattresses. His cheek bones pushed out too far and he was growing the starting scruffs of a small beard.

He looked scarily dead.

He looked scarily alive.

He turned around, taking off his coat and pulling the t-shirt up, trying to see the stubs where his wings used to be. The missing piece blocked out most of it but he could still see the angry brown scab, bleeding in some places the scab had broken itself as it healed. 

“Y’ look like shit” Wilbur turned back to look at Techno, letting his shirt fall back down to cover the stubs. 

“I guess I do.” 

“Checking on your wings?” 

Wilbur didn’t meet his eyes.

“So where’s Tommy?” 

“Out.” Techno grunted “You’re growing back a few feathers.” 

Wilbur couldn’t help but scoff, throwing his Pogtopian coat back on. “Not like they’ll do any good.” Techno made a soft sound of agreement 

“I heard y’ last night.” It didn’t escape Wilbur that they were in the corner of the ravine and that to leave the conversation he’d have to walk by Techno. 

“Nightmare?” 

Wilbur’s head throbbed angrily.

“Yeah.” 

“I think you should go see Dad.” Wilbur’s head snapped up, meeting Techno’s gaze. It felt like the world stopped spinning, like his heart froze, the sound of water dripping on the other side of the cave froze. 

“What?”

And everything started again. It felt like there was static inside his brain getting louder every second. A wave of anger passed through him. Gathering hot and large just inside his throat. 

“L’manburg is gone, Wilbur, you can’t keep obsessing over it, it’s unhealthy.” 

“Take it back.” Techno just stared. Light reflected off the crown perched on his head. 

“Take it back right fucking now.” The static was getting louder in his ears making his head it ring. Wilbur drew the sword on his belt, holding it to Techno’s neck. 

“ _ I said Take It Back _ !” His hands shook. 

Behind Techno Tommy and Tubbo stood looking horrified. A tear slid down Tubbo’s face. The static withdrew itself from his head. 

Wilbur put his sword back in it’s sheath and shuffled by Techno. He started ascending the stairs to the exit. Ignoring how his hands shook, ignoring how Tommy made sure to put himself between his brother and his best friend, ignoring how his own head swam in a faint buzz. 

Downstairs the mirror was missing another shard. 

Wilbur’s headache was getting worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like the chapter please comment! It gives me the motivation to write more!


	3. Clouds aren't great company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fundy never really was a poet by choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slight Tw for child abuse and drinking, but it isn't focused on.

It’s raining.

It sprinkles lightly, not enough to deter Fundy, but the perfect weather to keep anyone from following him. 

The perfect weather to think in.

A small path meets his paws. Muddy and clingy. Sticking to his fur. Won’t be pleasant to clean off later but he’ll take it over staying in Manburg. 

Puddles grace the ground. Dark, murky. He can’t help but be reminded of the smell of alcohol, spilled on the floor of the tiny caravan. His father, drunk and crying. 

He shakes off the memory, letting it fall like it’s just another raindrop. 

But every drop leaves its residue. 

His arms shake in the memory of exhaustion. Taking down the walls of L’manburg had been painful. Each brick held a memory. These walls watched him take his first steps. These walls watched him get hurt in a war he wasn’t even supposed to be in. These walls watched him beg for respect to be infantilized again and again. It was almost poetic in a way. 

Fundy had never been a poet.

Tubbo had tried to convince Schlatt that they should leave up the walls. The  _ smack _ of skin on skin and teenagers crying were never sounds Fundy liked. The same fate was his if he wouldn’t listen. 

He half wonders if that’s why the flint and steel had fit so perfectly inside his hands.

_ Your fault!  _ The clouds cried at him.  _ Your fault _ The rain echoed.

It felt like a sunset never seen. Like flames licking his hand as he tried to put them out. Like the betrayal in Niki’s eyes.

He was full of mistakes. 

Wilbur would laugh at that, say something Stupid  _ ‘of coarse you are! You’re half me afterall!’ _

Fundy never understood how painful fire could be until it wasn’t just the burns that hurt. 

It felt like smoke was burning his eyes, making them water. His brain couldn’t help but play the memory of fire lighting up the dark sky, a show for all to see. A rain of ash completing the image. It was violent and bright and so very  _ him _ . He couldn’t help but close his eyes. 

He all but stumbled into the clearing. 

“Hello Fundy.” His father greeted him. 

“Dad?” 

“Long time no see.” Wilbur gives a tired smile. Fundy feels like crying. 

“It’s…. It’s been a while.” He responds back. They stand there for a while, just watching one another. Wilbur was missing his wings, and his eyes looked glossy. The clouds stay silent, only sending rain down to antagonize the reunion. 

“I saw you, you know. Taking down the walls.” Fundy’s mouth tastes like copper. He opens his mouth, only to close it again. Nothing feels right. 

“You burned down the flag.” 

“I did.” 

His father smiles, something fake and devoid of emotion. The admission hurts more than it should. A hot flash of guilt goes through his lungs, waiting at the bottom of his throat. Waiting for him to just  _ say something.  _ Begging him to say sorry

Fundy says nothing. 

His father leaves, a stray down feather lays in the mud.

And isn’t that poetic?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like this chapter please comment! I don't care how stupid the comment it is, just knowing that people like my work is enough to inspire me to publish more often! Thank you for reading!


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